Nothing in Common
by RaceTheWind10
Summary: Calleigh/Lilly CSI:Miami Cold Case crossover. WARNING: Femslash. They thought they had nothing in common....mostly character study.


**Title: Nothing in common**

**Title: Nothing in common**

**Pairing: Calleigh/Lilly CSI: Miami, Cold Case**

**Rating: R angst and something more**

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**Spoilers: None (though how cool a crossover would that be?)**

**Summary: They thought they had nothing in common…**

**A/N, Thank you: From Calleigh's POV.**

* * *

We had nothing in common…at least that's what we thought. There were the superficial similarities of course. We're both blondes; both obsessively dedicated to our jobs. Both of us have slowly pulled away from the people around us, distancing ourselves as the job and the loss and the constant battle against death and darkness slowly scarred our hearts. We have loved, and lost, too many times for trust to come easily now, though neither of us can say when the exact moment came that the scales tipped and we began to loose faith in the "happily ever after."

Neither of us drinks, but in a weak moment, we'll both admit to the seductive call of the bottle and the oblivion it still sings promises of. She's been farther down that road than I have, but I know the feeling of its cracks and ruts and pitfalls beneath my feet too. It's a hard, unforgiving, cruel road; lit by the harsh light of truth that all of us want to turn from at some point in our lives. For her, it was growing up watching her mother slide into ruin and death. For me, it was dodging my father's fists, then hauling him out bars and standing helpless as he tried again and again to go clean: tried and failed. We know exactly the darkness that lies at the end of that road, and it's why we are both so careful not to take that first step.

Our meeting was chance, just a momentary crossing of paths on the journey of two lifetimes. A dull, grey moment, and yet, something about it still shines clearly in my memory, embedded with some small sliver of color and life, pale and exquisite…like her.

We have different lives, different loves and different homes. I'm southern born and bred; she's as Yankee as they come. I love nothing more than the sun hitting the ocean on a clear day; her peace is the first snowfall of the year as it quiets her city, softening the hard edges. When I need to drown the silence in my head I turn to Davis and Coltrane, she has a weakness for The Supremes and Beethoven.

No, we had nothing in common.

* * *

I stroke her alabaster skin and watch the delicate flush bloom in her cheeks. Her breath is harsh and hard and her lips are parted and swollen from my kisses. I trace my tongue down her body and watch as the heat from my touch slowly drives away the darkness in her eyes. There's a desperation in her hands as she clings to me, but I can't blame her for it. It's the same cruel, endless hope that _this time _the nightmares and the memories will be banished, if only for a little while. It's the same desperation that's driving my tender assault on her body: pushing her to beg, teasing her until she pleads, in that smoky, breathless voice, for me to take her. I know what she really wants is for me to take away the pain and regrets, and though we both know it's futile, I do what I can to give her at least one, tiny, precious second of respite.

When she recovers, she returns the favor, and as my body clenches around her hands and my release tears a cry from deep in my throat, I feel a swell of gratitude. For just a moment, her touch frees me from the prison I've created for myself. I will always owe her for that.

In the sulfur edged shadows that slip through her window, we lie tangled in her bed and I watch entranced the motion of my fingers on her ribcage. There is a slow, comforting peace to the moment and I want it to last, delaying the inevitable surrender to sleep as long as possible.

With a touch she stills my hands, slipping her fingers through mine. I raise my head to look at her and marvel at the way her glacial eyes can hold such warmth even in the dim light. There are no words spoken: there is nothing to be said. Our bodies have told the story all night and such flimsy constructions of mere sound have no power to alter the past.

With a soft tug she pulls me close and I lay my head on her shoulder, wrapping myself around her as if, by the touch of our bodies, I could somehow abolish the separation of our souls. She kisses my hair and her fingers slowly trace my spine. Our breath draws in time and I hear her heartbeat slow to match my own beneath my ear.

Darkness gently cushions my awareness, but this time I give in gracefully. We will have tomorrow at least, and that is all I can ask for anymore. As oblivion reaches up to claim me, one last realization slips gently through my thoughts.

_We have everything in common. _

_Fin _


End file.
